I am Gone
by EvenSong
Summary: When her sisters leave her at home, Favrielle borrows a dress, commands a coach and goes to the ball. She meets the Prince, and they dance... I warn you that it is dark and it might bite. Watch out. (Cinderella one shot)


_Disclaimer:_ I do not own the story of Cinderella, if I did, I believe I would be quite dead.

_Warnings_:it's rated for a reason, there is blood, sex, and death. No whining to me, please.

_Thank yous: _I had two betas on this piece, both are wonderful! Lindylou78 and my human spell-checker, Jen. Thanks bunches to them!

_I Am Gone_

Favrielle watched from the shadows as her family left her. Her mother, her sisters; all of them were leaving her behind again.

Mother had said it was because she was too young. It was true; Favrielle was still a year away from her twentieth year- and her majority. The Herald that announced the Prince's Ball had said 'all eligible maidens', and Favrielle was not.

Rashel claimed that Favrielle hadn't finished all of her lessons yet. One who hadn't finished all of her lessons couldn't possibly _not_ make a disastrous social faux pas at an event of such import.

Lorelei told her, trying to lighten her sister's feeling of grave injustice, that her hair was far too short. Favrielle had laughed, but it was more a ploy to ease Lorelei's guilt than actual laughter.

Favrielle sighed as her sisters smiled and blew kisses back to her, resplendent in their gowns. She waved, and they clattered off.

"I will go," she muttered. She knew of acquaintances that were attending, some of which hadn't reached their legal adulthood yet.

She turned as soon as they were out of sight and ran to Lorelei's room, knowing of all the different dresses that had been rejected for various reasons. Lorelei was of a similar size to Favrielle, and the younger woman knew that her sister's clothing would fit her passably well.

Favrielle had picked out the gown that she loved the moment that Lorelei had scorned it. It was a simplistic affair of wine colored satin and trailing sleeves of black lace that whispered along with her every movement. The satin pooled elegantly around her feet and she smiled with satisfaction.

The shoes that went with the dress were made of a translucent, gauzy fabric that was crisscrossed with ethereal threads of silver. The slippers clung to her feet, shimmering as they caught the light. "Perfect," Favrielle sighed as she slipped down the hall to her own room to finish her work.

A necklace made of the most gossamer threads of silver lowered a blood red ruby to rest lightly between her breasts, the only drop of color on her pale skin. A coif of the same delicate silver set with miniscule rubies caught and held her dark hair, letting only a few carefully chosen strands drift down to frame her face. Favrielle hooked the ends of a thin silver chain to the coif, sighing with delight as the cool metal slipped across her forehead.

A touch of kohl around the outer edges of her eyes and stains of carmine on her lips marked the finale of her preparations. She admired herself briefly, reveling in the knowledge that she looked stunning.

As she descended the main stairs, Favrielle smiled serenely at those who stared, taking it all in stride.

"A coach for a Lady," She commanded with arrogance.

"Mi-milady, I must protest-" Her governess started forward, uncertain of what to do with the apparition that stood before her. "Your lady-mother does not want you to go..." The woman trailed off into silence as Favrielle regarded her with a withering look.

"Silence." The word fell into oblivion. "A coach."

The driver bowed deeply to her, as he had done to her mother and sisters, before he exited.

Favrielle smiled and continued her descent.

The governess shuddered inwardly as the crystalline blue of the Lady's eyes turned upon her. "Yes, milady?"

"Tell no one of this." Her words dripped, silken, from scarlet lips. Her eyes burned into the assembled servants even as her words were like ice.

"Yes, milady." The governess curtsied stiffly. A ripple went round the main hall as the servants followed suit, bowing or curtseying deferentially.

"Milady, the coach you requested." The driver offered the Lady his arm, and she took it. He realized that beneath the cold distance and hauteur, she was trembling with fear.

Her hand shook gracelessly, and she stumbled slightly as he handed her into the coach.

With a flick of his whip, the finely matched team of black horses stepped off into the night. He had no need to ask where she was going, for he knew. They all knew, and they would not tell.

As the neared the palace, Favrielle inhaled deeply, calming herself. Soon, hands stopped their quavering and her heart had resumed its rhythmic pulse. The driver lifted her down, and she sauntered up to the great doors without a backwards glance.

Alone, on the path lit only by moonlight, she looked like a shadow that slipped from place to place, constantly moving. Only rarely would the moon reflect off the silver, sending bright light lancing into the darkness and thus revealing her.

The only notice that the butler had of one latent guest was the sound of hooves on cobblestones. When the splendid woman emerged from the shadows, he let out an inaudible sigh and bowed deeply to her.

"My Lady, please, go to your left and tell the Herald who you are. He will announce you as you enter the ballroom." He dared to meet her austere gaze. "You are a vision, Lady."

Favrielle merely nodded and stepped inside the door. Her skirt swished along after her, almost silent on the marble floor.

"Good evening, milady," The youthful Herald said. He bowed and looked expectantly at her. "Do you have a name, milady?" He prompted her gently.

A slight flush stained her alabaster cheeks. "Vrielle," She said simply.

"Have you no surname, lands or titles with which I should augment your name?" The Herald inquired politely.

A haughty sneer almost twisted her lips, "I have no need of such petty things." Her words were acerbic as she directed him, "I am Vrielle, announce me."

The Herald, jolted back to his duty, looked askance at her, as if trying to unravel her mystery, then proclaimed, "Vrielle."

There was no sudden silence or momentary stillness as she was announced and entered the great room. The three liquid syllables of her name were lost in the whirl of the Dance.

Favrielle was noted by an assortment of glances, some were jealous and some admiring; most were cursory, writing her off as another melodramatic ploy to gain the Prince's attention.

Although it was not what she had come to do, that was precisely what she had done. The Prince had noted her entrance and sauntered over to her, a small smile on his lips.

"Vrielle," He approached her cordially, "May I have this dance?" Without waiting for her assent, his arm circled expertly around her waist, the other hand reaching up to catch her hand. "You look like what every woman wishes to be- beautiful." His lips curved upwards into a smile.

"Thank you," Favrielle replied, her gaze flickering up to the golden fillet perched upon his fair head, "Your Highness."

"It is no difficulty stating the truth," He said with a small chuckle as the words rolled off his tongue with practiced ease. "Vrielle," He mused as they spun around in slow, waltzing circles. "Have you no titles, no lands, no family to ornament your lovely name?" His hand gently pressured her lower back, drawing her closer to him.

"I need none of those," She stated with an insolent tone, "For I am simply Vrielle."

The Prince seemed intrigued. "Oh really? How did you arrive here in such finery, eh?" He steered their course toward the outer terrace. "Did you steal it, as you steal my heart?" He leaned closer as the night enveloped them. "Or are you a Princess from a distant land, disdaining titles so that she might win me over with herself instead of her dowry?" The Prince offered his suspicions, whispering softly into her ear.

"You decide," she murmured in response, shivering as his breath wafted across her ear. "I care not what it is you choose..." She trailed off as the Prince pressed his lips to hers.

"You don't care what it is I choose, so long as it is you?" He kissed her again, not waiting for an answer.

"I don't care," Favrielle whispered, raising a hand to touch her lips in wonderment. "I...don't...care." Her dazed expression invited another kiss, which was given instantly. She tried to speak, but he silenced her with more kisses, and she tangled her hands in his hair, giving in to him. His arms wrapped around her waist, bringing her body flush with his.

"Come, I want to show you something," He led Favrielle away from the people and into the solace of the dark.

"What?" Favrielle asked, breathless.

The Prince jerked her behind a hedge, and his mouth came crashing down on hers, parting her lips easily to submit her to a deeper, more passionate kiss.

His lips soon trailed along her jaw line and ghosted down her throat. The Prince's hand cupped her face roughly as he strung kisses like jewels along the silver, decorating the ruby pendant carefully with his tender ministrations.

In a sudden whirlwind of passion, his fingers were peeling back the satin of her dress, his lips adorning the creamy flesh of her breasts with kisses.

Favrielle cried out and wrenched herself away from him, terror showing in her every motion.

"What?" He asked, panting heavily. "Come back here, girl. This is likely your only chance to be with a Prince," he snarled, throwing himself after her as she scrambled backwards.

Nothing was supposed to be like this!

His hand closed around her ankle; she kicked out and lost one delicate slipper to his hands.

He studied it for a moment, and Favrielle clambered to her feet and fled before he could take the other or her.

Her night, the idyllic paradise that it had been, was shattered. She darted into the dizzying sea of colors, the swirling skirts and musical melodies; rushing up the steps, taking them two at a time in her haste until she tripped and fell.

Tears streaming down her face in smudged black trails, Favrielle regained her feet, clenched her skirts in a tight fist and dashed past the startled Herald.

Her bare foot smacking loudly against the polished marble floor of the main hall, she slipped out of the door and was instantly swallowed by the shadows.

Favrielle found her coach with its black team and flung herself inside, curling up in the corner and choking on her sobs.

The driver took her home without a word, helping her out and driving away as she stumbled, blinded by her tears, into the house.

Favrielle was lost, swallowed by her fear and panic. She didn't realize that the hands trying to disrobe her were guided with innocent intent; she fought them, screaming and lashing out like one gone mad.

After a prolonged struggle, she lay in bed, a fresh nightshift on and no evidence of her excursions. The dress was placed safely back in Lorelei's chamber, along with the lone slipper. Her jewels were removed and placed in their proper place, and the governess wiped away the traces of Favrielle's cosmetics with a damp cloth.

The maids sighed as they looked at the wretched girl who had been a striking lady such a short time earlier.

It was agreed that they would not speak of it to the Lady or to her two daughters. No one would know of Favrielle's escapade.

The days passed with and agonizing slowness, each moment a memory relived and not to be escaped. Favrielle withdrew to her own thoughts, suffering alone in her misery.

Gone was the insolent child who had raged at being excluded from the festivities; a sullen young woman who kept her own, troubled counsel replaced her instead.

Her sisters and mother took note of this sudden change, and thought it for the best; perhaps Favrielle was gaining some form of self-control. The detachment with which she treated them did disturb them and set them on edge, but they attributed it to a new level of reserve.

Favrielle watched them all warily from behind a shield of apathy, never offering comments and only speaking when spoken to. She regarded them all with a blank cerulean stare as the Prince chose Rashel for his bride. She stood, still, as the Prince glanced her way, deflecting his gaze with a blatantly vacant air.

Outside, everything appeared well balanced. Favrielle congratulated her sister and her betrothed with a sweet smile. She hugged them both and tasted the meaningless well wishes on her tongue.

Inside, she tried to maintain a semblance of calm, but the memories always swept her away. She sank deeper and deeper into the remembered caresses and ambrosial kisses. She drowned in the panic that suffused her with each breath; relived her chaotic flight from the garden and forgot herself in the hauteur and arrogant flirtations of Vrielle.

Favrielle knew the Prince recognized her features and wondered about her. She knew from the way his eyes raked her from head to toe, feasting with an insatiable hunger upon her body, an unquenchable lust smoldering in his eyes. The casual caresses that flitted across her skin as he passed her told her that he knew. From his sharp looks and subtle advances, she knew.

Favrielle knew, and it terrified her. He terrified her.

Her nightmares brimmed with his face, burned with his scathing glare at her fear as she fled to more pleasant dreams, only to become ensnared in his embrace with no escape except for waking.

When she woke, he clouded her mind and her hours. There was no escaping him.

When the Prince married Rashel, his dark gaze often drifted away from his bride. When his lips spoke the vows to her sister, Favrielle was trapped in his unrelenting stare.

Their eyes broke away from each other as he leaned down to remove the veil and seal his marriage with a kiss. Favrielle remembered, and fancied she could feel his fingertips brushing her cheek and his lips on hers, insistent and so completely aphrodisiacal.

The newlyweds were sequestered in their own private suite to enjoy the other's company fully for the first time. Favrielle turned her gaze away as the Prince and his Princess emerged from the rooms, each looking sated and content.

Favrielle wandered to her own chamber, confused by the anger that had inundated her. Her fingers searched desperately for something to do, traveling over everything blindly.

With a sharp inhalation, she drew back as her hand trailed across the soft leather sole of a slipper. She examined it, and knew that the gossamer threads of silver crisscrossing the leather had once conformed to her foot.

Favrielle watched it shimmering in the light, and slipped into a pool of unwanted memories.

_He threw her to the ground and she pulled away. A part of her wanted to give in to him, to be his; another part of her screamed at how wrong it was. Everything was wrong, she shouldn't be there...She pulled away from him, dragging her self out of his arms. He came away clutching a shoe, one of her precious dancing slippers. He advanced again on her and..._

No. Favrielle forced herself from the memory and looked at the slipper that rested innocently on her palm. The ink that sprawled across the worn and soiled sole drew her in, and she read carefully.

_My dear Vrielle,_ it read, _I await you in the tower room that overlooks the south garden. Join me, dear dancer, as soon as you are able. _

There was no signature, for one was not necessary.

He knew.

Favrielle looked in the mirror, and her lips turned up in a sad smile. She lifted her chin and clutched the slipper tightly in her hand.

Vrielle left her chambers, tucking the slipper into her sash as she went.

He waited for her as he has said he would. She went to him without protest, knowing, that in her arrival, he had already won.

"Vrielle," He breathed, turning and placing a kiss on her lips. She endured it, stoic and silent.

She flinched as his cold fingertips brushed against the bare skin of her stomach, drawing back from him as her dress fell into a silken pool at her feet. His lips took possession of hers once more and he drew her close. She gave herself over to him, clinging to him with a desperate silence.

Favrielle curled into herself, tears running down her face, as he dressed. He knelt next to her and placed a tender kiss on each eyelid before he left her there, alone.

She stopped the flow of tears with an effort and wiped them away with a pale hand. She dressed slowly, her hands shaking visibly. Pushing the sleeves of her cerulean gown out of her way, she pulled a sheaf of parchment to her and began to write.

_I need no titles, no family or lands. I am Favrielle, alone and forgotten. I am gone. _

She turned and unlatched the heavy glass window. Precariously, balanced on the edge of the sill, she surveyed the ground beneath her.

It was far below her, yet she could still pick out individual blossoms, colorful against the green.

She closed her eyes and put one foot forward in a hesitant step. Her foot met with unexpected solidity. She drew it back, preparing to step the other way.

Hands clasped around her waist, and he whispered, "Vrielle." She turned to look at him and shuddered as he drew her back until she rested against him.

He folded the note she had composed and slid it between her breasts. He kissed her neck sensuously and helped her to stand again. His hands again rested on her hips and slipped back to the flat of her back.

He pushed.

She fell, surrendering again to him, not trying to keep her balance until it was too late. As she plummeted, she realized that finally, she was free.

The wind tangled fingers in her dark hair as she tumbled the word around her mind, testing it; she was _free._ Free of everything! It was so wonderful, finally being emancipated from her worries, from her cares, from her life.

Free.

A flicker of sadness echoed through her mind that it would only last such a short while, but that thought was soon cut off as she knew nothing but sharp, cutting pain, and then, finally, nothing at all...

When they found her sprawled in the dirt, they turned her over to see who it was. "Vrielle," the Herald muttered, remembering the entrancing girl who had come before. He remembered her crimson lips, tinged with carmine instead of blood. He brushed his finger against the bruised eyelids that hid pale blue eyes for eternity.

He remembered, and mourned for the loss of such a beautiful life.

He picked up the body of the girl and carried her into the audience chamber. "Presenting Vrielle," The Herald said, laying her down at the foot of the throne.

Lorelei cried out and Rashel sobbed openly. The Prince knelt and carefully kissed her stained lips.

"You are gone," he said simply.

The End

_Author's Note: _Please, review this and tell me what you think of it. Please please please...I want feedback on this. I really like it, and I want to improve it if I can.

Thanks to everyone!


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